


konan and the revival of amegakure in three simple steps

by yokolite



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, Good Akatsuki (Naruto), M/M, What is this you ask, except hanzou, first fic here, he can choke, i have no reply, i mean yahiko lives so, if jiraiya can get over his internalised homophobia so can you, konoha bashing?? kind of?? they're from ame man, pls love me, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24684094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokolite/pseuds/yokolite
Summary: The plan goes something like this:1. Kill Hanzō.2. Glare at Nagato until he gives up his plans for world peace (Amegakure's neighbours used her as a warground, whether or not they attain peace is none of Konan's business).3. Profit.Then Yahiko says since, you know, she killed Hanzo, she should naturally be the one to replace him. That's where it really goes downhill, in her humble opinion.
Relationships: Konan & Nagato | Pain & Yahiko, Nagato | Pain/Yahiko
Comments: 15
Kudos: 44





	konan and the revival of amegakure in three simple steps

**Author's Note:**

> quick warning for pretty ooc characters so if that's not your thing... yeah. otherwise, enjoy this little plot bunny and lemme know what you think <3

When Hanzō declares in-fighting is the only way to spare Akatsuki as a whole, Konan knows that won’t fucking happen.

Point one: Nagato is an idealist pansy who would sooner kill himself than even think to raise a blade against Yahiko, even if his ideal world is at stake because, as mentioned, he is a pansy, and Yahiko is a very enamoured enabler. That can be neither platonic nor healthy. Even the heteronormativity-loaded, marriage-sacred believer Jiraiya hadn’t for a second bought their ‘just friends’ bullshit.

(He barged into their shared room, once, a terrible, ratty place, with just two beds, to find the boys curled around each other while Konan languished in the other bed. He sputtered and choked on his words, barely getting out the  _ Are you two  _ sleeping _ together?! _ his mind wasn’t being able to comprehend. Konan woke up to the boys red-faced with equal parts embarrassment and indignation, and too much fear to be in the presence of an ally. Her chakra surged forth before she could even think about it, driving Jiraiya out with the threat of a thousand papercuts. It was another month before Konan allowed any contact with him, and it would’ve continued endlessly, favours and debts be damned, if he hadn’t got his head straight and apologised.)

The point is, Nagato cannot, in any way, harm Yahiko, and it’s causing him very visible distress, and she can already see Yahiko’s gears turning to figure out how to make Hanzō  _ pay _ for making him feel this way, while also soaring on an impossible high because  _ hey, he cares about me so much! _ As if it isn’t already very established that they are both equally gay and devoted and stupid.

Maybe that was several points.

More importantly, there’s point two or five or twenty: Konan won’t  _ let _ this happen. Yahiko and Nagato are idealist idiots on wavelengths she can never hope to, nor  _ want _ to comprehend, but they are  _ hers _ . Her family.

And, anyways, Hanzō stinks.

She steps forward. Nagato jolts, the kunai in his shaky hands tumbling to the ground. She resists the urge to scowl, instead draws her best impression of Jiraiya at his worst: thoughtless, guileless and defenceless. Idealistic.  _ Weak _ . Maybe it’s a bit terrible of her to think of the one of the legendary Sannin in such a light, but Konan has eyes. She knows where to look, she knows what she sees.

And Hanzō is the one who christened Jiraiya and his teammates with that title, and Jiraiya spent three years in enemy territory while his own people died in a battle of their own making, nurturing a trio of successors.

Konoha gets what she wants, and there’s no way she doesn’t know they exist.

Here’s the secret, though: Konoha isn’t all that much.

She sees it in the way he talks, the way he moves and the way he fights. The way he throws away his loyalties for a semblance of freedom. Jiraiya and his fellows won Konoha her worst wars. And then, they deserted her just as quick.

Ame will never know that pain as long as Konan lives. As long as Yahiko and Nagato live.

To that end? To that end, Hanzō is an eyesore.

She can deal with eyesores.

So, she humbles herself, curls into the body of a young girl, weak and stupid and  _ naive _ , thinking sheer force of will and the power of friendship and love could win any war, and looks at Hanzō. She lets her hands shake and curl into her sleeves, tripping over her feet to stand in front of her boys. “You said,” she says, injecting an artificial shudder to her voice when his masked gaze lands on her, “you  _ said _ , a leader has to die here. Why does it have to be Yahiko-sama?”

Yahiko’s head snaps up. Nagato freezes.

_ Who the fuck is that? _ they think collectively. Konan has never shown subservience to anyone since she flooded the air with her chakra, stripped the bark off trees and molded it into wire-sharp paper blades, flagged down their greatest enemies and convinced one to join their cause. Amegakure no Konan has no master but herself.

Amegakure no Konan doesn’t cower and shriek when a hail of kunai responds to her words.

Yahiko doesn’t scream, but it’s a near thing. Nagato has no such reservations. Konan’s blood paints the earth at their feet red, the dull thud of her body hitting the ground accentuated by Hanzō’s booming laughter.

“Well, Uzumaki boy? Your hesitation lost you one more ally than you would have otherwise. How does it feel? Do you think, like your friend here, that you can win this?”

Yahiko looks at Konan, a single kunai skewered through her heart and a dozen others buried in her limbs and torso and the ground around her, and raises his eyes to Nagato. He stares back.

“Nagato,” he says, voice flat, “kill me.”

Nagato picks out a new kunai from his holster, movements slow and strained. His eyes dart from Konan ( _ dead _ Konan, so so so  _ fake _ but there’s  _ blood _ and she’s  _ dead she’s dead she’s dead _ -) to Yahiko and back again. Hanzō waits, amused by the spectacle, lax in his confidence.

His  _ arrogance _ .

(He hasn’t heard the stories. Hasn’t given a thought to the rising support for the peace-championing organisation that calls itself  _ Akatsuki _ , born off the ideals of three orphans that should’ve rotted by the wayside long ago. Hasn’t stopped to think about the implications behind the political expertise of the leader and the Uzumaki-typical sealing prowess of his second.

He didn’t wonder how they conquered half of Ame with nothing but a strategist and a sealer spoken for. Didn’t wonder who their mysterious  _ third _ was that fought their wars for them. That won them.

He didn’t know Konan was Ame’s death and rebirth wrapped into a single blood-soaked paper rose.)

An errant breeze whistles past, tugging at Konan’s cloak, a single piece of origami paper fluttering out. Hanzō’s eyes stray to it and he nearly sneers, but  _ then _ -

Chakra flares around him, foreign and angry.  _ Loud _ . He turns, sword drawn, a hand at his mask to spill toxic fumes, the subordinates around him be damned-

Konan slits Hanzō’s throat.

Her chakra is paper-thin and sickle-sharp. Hanzō’s voice is drowned in his own blood, his sword arm lashing wildly, but Konan is  _ everywhere _ . The weight of a thousand dead trees bears down on him, wrapping around him and moulding him in place.

Sanshōuo no Hanzō dies a pitiful death.

Konan stands over him, flicking blood off her cloak. Around her, there is silence. In the clearing below, Yahiko places a firm hand on Nagato’s shoulder, plucking the kunai out of his hand and tossing it up to Konan. She stabs it into Hanzō’s body for good measure.

“Are there any among you who wish to avenge your master?”

There isn’t. (Hanzō is like Konoha, like the pathetic bandaged man that sought his allegiance to destroy a spark of peace that had no bearing on him. And like Konoha, their people would watch them burn, thankless and guiltless, because what have they ever given them? The ones who fought and bled and died for them?

Nothing.

And Akatsuki is made of people  _ just like that _ .)

(Yahiko tells her Ame will never know a truer master than her.)


End file.
